The Other Weasley
by Instead of Reality
Summary: Many people—wizards, Muggles, men, women, young, and old— disappeared during You-Know-Who's initial rise to power. This is the story of one of these persons, whose family is near and dear to the heart of Harry Potter. HIATUS.
1. Prologue

**The Other Weasley**

**A Harry Potter Fan-Fic**

**Author's Note: **I have been working on this story longer than I care to admit. So I am apt to change things as the idea expands and grows. I will let you know by author's note if I have updated. Enjoy! I do not own the world of Harry Potter, it belongs to J.K. Rowling.

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**PROLOGUE **

Albus Dumbledore found the Minister of Magic sitting in his office, looking very much like he had just had been doused with cold water. He was clutching a letter in his hand. Fudge looked up, ignoring the tiny figure at Dumbledore's side.

"Dumbledore-what does this mean? How can—?"

Dumbledore quickly silenced Fudge with a look. He then smiled down at the small child at his side.

"My dear, this is Mr. Fudge, the Minister of Magic," he said kindly. The little girl looked shyly at Fudge and cocked her head, looking him over. Fudge smiled, despite himself, at the girl and waved awkwardly. The girl grinned and wiggled her fingertips at him. He could see a gap in her teeth, presumably where she had lost her front tooth. She clutched a stuffed animal, a very new-looking teddy bear.

"Hello, m'dear. What is your name?" Dumbledore shot Fudge a look that Fudge did not understand. The girl stopped grinning. She looked at Dumbledore and then at her feet before answering softly:

"I don't know."

Fudge was stunned. Glancing at Dumbledore, he was given a warning glare, which he disregarded.

"Don't know your own name? My dear?" he added hastily, not wanted to offend the girl. The girl continued to stare at the ground. The tips of her ears were a brilliant shade of red. Dumbledore opened his mouth to steer the conversation away from the obviously uncomfortable topic as Fudge stared at this rather, he was beginning to think, dim-witted child.

"_They_ called me Weasel." This was quietly said; Fudge almost didn't hear it.

"_Weasel_, m'dear? Why on earth are you called Weasel?"

"_She_ called me that first. _She_ said I was too stupid to have a real name and that unless weasels were careful, snakes would eat me—err—them." The girl shuddered violently and clutched her bear. Fudge was given now a good chance to really look at the girl. She had vivid red hair and many freckles over pale skin that suggested that she had been kept indoors until recently. She was tall for her age which looked to be about five, and very skinny, and he could see a large bruise on her wrist and one on her leg.

Dumbledore placed his hand on the girl's shoulder but the girl took no notice, lost in her intent observation of her shoe. Fudge cleared his throat, wondering how to end this rather awkward moment. He was saved by the entrance by his secretary, with the mail. Spying the little girl, she offered to take her downstairs for a treat.

The little girl brightened and quickly followed the secretary, Miss Emily Knobbins, out the door in search of a cookie. Fudge noticed that the little girl walked slightly odd, as if it was painful to place her left leg on the ground.

"Well?" asked Dumbledore quietly.

Snapping his head to look at the Hogwarts headmaster, Fudge exclaimed, "_This_ is the girl?"

Dumbledore conjured himself a chair and sank into it.

Annoyed, Fudge demanded, "Well? Is she? Is she the girl you wrote to me about?" He shook the letter in his friend's face. Dumbledore nodded slowly.

Fudge was incredulous. "That little girl? She looks like she's five years old! I ref—"

"—Seven."

"What?"

"She is seven years-old, not five," corrected Dumbledore.

"Fine. Seven. This _seven_-_year_-_old_ _girl_ is the one…"

"Cornelius, please. You are shouting. Some people might think it undignified for the Minister of Magic to be shouting."

Fudge glanced around the room. Dumbledore carefully got up and locked the door and then performed a silencing charm, so that no one would be able to hear what was being said. Both men were silent, remembering a time, not so long ago, where every conversation had to be in hushed tones behind locked and spelled doors.

Reseating himself, Dumbledore gazed at his fingertips. "If you have any questions, I would be grateful to hear them and happy to explain to the best of my ability and knowledge of the situation. But remember, I do not know the answers to your questions. My answers are based on my conclusions which rely entirely on what I observed and what the child told me."

"Who is she?"

Dumbledore sighed. "That is not of the utmost importance…yet." Fudge said nothing, searching for a question. Everything, he thought, revolved around the girl's identity.

"How and where did you find her?"

"She appeared in my fireplace."

Fudge was dumbstruck for a moment. He shook his head and stuck his fingers in his ears in an attempt to clean them out. "I beg your pardon. I could have sworn you just said that she was in your fireplace." Dumbledore nodded.

"Your hearing is still quite good, Cornelius."

Fudge almost fell out of his chair, "Your fireplace, Dumbledore?" Dumbledore smiled, amused.

"You sound, and do not take this as an insult, my dear Fudge, like a Muggle who is unused to magic. Yes, she was sent to my fireplace by Floo powder. Either she was sent to Hogwarts on purpose or was not clear when stating her destination, I do not know. The latter is more probable."

Fudge accepted this answer. "How does she not know her name?"

"Ah. That is very important. 'What's in a name?' William Shakespeare. Our '_Weasel'_ does not know her name. Odd, even for a child? Indeed. I have come to the conclusion that she was kidnapped shortly after birth. As you know, disappearances of young and old have not, unfortunately, been unusual in the past few years."

"Yes. Yes. You did say that in the letter. But by who?" broke out Fudge impatiently.

"Cornelius, please. I don't really know what happened. I have my ideas as to what...."

"Alright, Albus, what are your theories about little 'Weasel'?" Dumbledore sighed, looking over his fingertips at the Minister.

"My 'theories' are these: 'Weasel' was kidnapped shortly after her birth, by a Death Eater. This Death Eater raised her for only a couple years before either being captured, killed, or forced to flee. Then 'Weasel' was moved to several homes. I believe that she was sent to perhaps other Death Eaters, maybe members of the kidnapper's family."

Fudge stared at him. "You must have some clue about the kidnapper."

Dumbledore smiled slightly. "You know me, Cornelius. I always have my suppositions. It is obviously a female; hence the _she_ 'Weasel' spoke of. And this _she_ is obviously close to Voldemort, or was before his downfall."

"How do you know? You-Know-Who had many followers, plenty female, I'm sure."

"Simply by listening. 'Weasel' informed me of this without knowing she was telling me, and she also told you."

"What?!? When?"

"She said that she was told to be careful of snakes as she is a 'weasel.' I guessed that 'snake' referred to Voldemort. It was her warning to be careful around Voldemort, as he could easily 'eat' her."

"So, You-Know-Who knew about that little girl?" Fudge stared unabashedly at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore coolly continued, "It's quite logical. Elementary almost, my dear Fudge." Dumbledore chuckled to himself.

"What the devil is so funny, Dumbledore?"

"Please excuse me, Cornelius, " said Dumbledore, having got himself under control, "But you would make the perfect Watson, as in Dr. Watson from _Sherlock Holmes_, though I dare not fancy myself as admirable a detective as Holmes." To the confused Fudge, he added, "_The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_, Sir Arthur C. Doyle. A charming book, though being Muggle-written, I daresay you haven't heard of it."

"No." Not amused in the least by Sherlock Holmes, Fudge pressed on. "But please what do you mean by You-Know-Who knowing about the girl?"

Dumbledore sighed and explained kindly, "If she was kidnapped by one of Voldemort's closest supporters, he would know about her. No Death Eater does things without the Dark Lord knowing about it."

"But what Death Eater would kidnap a little girl?"

"That is what I am not sure of. But to set you at ease, the Death Eater we speak of, she is in Azkaban. Not for the crime of kidnapping but something much, much worse."

Fudge's eyes went round. Two and two were coming together in his head. The information Dumbledore had just given him now and in the letter now was making sense. Two and two equals four.

"You think…_Bellatrix Lestrange_ …?"

Dumbledore inclined his head ever so slightly forward. Fudge sat back in his chair, trying to take this all in.

"Why are you telling me all this, Albus?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I need to find a suitable home for this girl. A _Muggle_ home. She must be given as normal a childhood as is possible and I believe being away from magic will help her.

"Albus," said Fudge suddenly, "she's only seven years old and was at the mercy of You-Know-Who and his followers for most of that time!? How on earth did she survive?"

Smiling at the flabbergasted Minister, Dumbledore said, "You underestimate youth, Minister. Some have managed great feats at young ages. For example, Harry Potter."

Fudge was silent as both men remembered that night, All Hallow's Eve, 1981. That day was a triumph in wizard history, and a loss. More people felt the triumph of young Harry Potter over Voldemort more than they felt the terrible loss of James and Lily Potter.

"She has some unfortunate circumstances, like Harry. But she is not the 'Girl Who Lived.' By all means, she is simply an ordinary little girl who had some very terrible experiences. As to your question, how did she survive? She feigned a lack of intelligence."

"I beg your pardon."

"She pretended she was stupid."

Fudge just stared.

"She is intelligent. I suppose that she feigned stupidity, she tried it on me before I convinced her she was out of harm's way. But now, Minister, I need to find a place for her to stay. A non-wizarding family."

"Why _Muggles_, Albus? She's not a Muggle. And the information she could give us…in rounding up Death Eaters! Think of the possibilities!"

"No. She will not be interrogated now. She is too young. Let her have some good memories to help her with the bad ones."

Fudge said nothing. He called in his secretary who was more than happy to provide them with the address of her Muggle relatives.

Dumbledore stood, preparing to fetch the girl from under the watchful eye of the secretary. But Fudge stopped him.

"Albus, answer me one question, please. Who is she?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Cornelius, I am not a hundred percent sure. But when I am certain of her identity, I will send word."

Dumbledore then took his leave, taking the child by her hand and Apparating, leaving the Minister of Magic much to puzzle over.

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About a year later, Fudge was sitting in his parlor at home, thinking of nothing in particular when an owl swooped in. Startled, he spilled his tea all over his brocade dressing gown.

Swearing loudly, he tried to wipe off the tea with napkins but to no avail. The owl was persistent and seemed flighty and nervous. He untied the letter from the owl, which immediately flew away.

"Guess the fellow doesn't want a reply," grumbled Fudge as he opened the seal. Reading the contents, which were brief, he gaped. Heavily he sank back into his chair, the letter dropping from his fingers to the floor.

"I don't believe it!" he cried, jumping out of his seat to pace back and forth. It made sense, terrifyingly perfect sense.

Unfortunately, as he rounded about sharply to continue his pace down the room, he knocked over the teapot. Horrified, he looked down. The tea had spilt over the carpet and all over the letter. Only a few words here and there were legible on that fateful bit of parchment.

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**Tell me whether or not you would consider continuing reading this... :D**


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **I do not pretend to own the world of Harry Potter.

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**CHAPTER 1**

My alarm went off at six A.M. Grumbling, I hurried into the bathroom. Splashing my face with cold wafter, I shook off a little of the sleep that surrounded me.

"Ella! You up?"

"Yes, Mum!" I shouted down the stairs.

"Well, hurry up and stop hogging the loo!" hollered Charlie, his normal early-morning charming self.

"Shut it, you git!" I yelled back, being my own charming early-morning self.

Day has begun in the Smith household, I thought to myself. Colin was running downstairs to be the first to kiss Mum good morning. We always let him win because he was ten and no one else particularly cared to compete in that competition anyway. Charlie continued to pace outside the bathroom. Dad was probably reading the newspaper while Mum made breakfast. Sophie was probably still taking her beauty sleep.

Downstairs, it was a chaotic school morning. Our secondary school had started a new 'summer term'. So, we were having a first-day-of-school in the middle of bloody July. Life can be hell.

I grabbed a bit of toast and jam and some orange juice and sat across from Dad. Charlie was wolfing down his breakfast while Colin poured his favorite cereal. Sophie appeared as I was leaving the table, still in her pajamas, and helped herself to some tea. I shook my head at her, envious. She managed to look smashing when she could barely stand straight. Me, my hair was probably in need of a serious brushing before I even thought about stepping outside.

I was finished dressing when I heard the horn outside. I groaned. I had yet to do anything with my hair. I grabbed a cap and pulled it over my head, grabbed my bag, and dashed out the door, calling hurried goodbyes.

Lara Jones greeted me with a hello as Justin Callaghan leaned over and blasted the horn. Kathleen Hullord, his girlfriend, leaned over and smacked him playfully. I shook my head at them as I jumped into the car. Lara saw the cap and groaned. Immediately she pulled it off and began to do something with my hair. I grinned. Only my friends were this nuts. Within minutes, my hair was under control and we were parking in the lot at Stonewall High.

Walking with Alison Walpole to my locker before lunch, discussing various interesting topics, like boys and why the hell Stonewall decided to implement a new and totally bizarre school schedule starting in July, I barely noticed Charlie and his friends gathered round his locker. However, I did notice Miranda Cavendish leaning against my locker.

Miranda, Charlie's girlfriend, was not a particular friend of mine. She wasn't someone I'd go for, if I were of the male species. She was just a tad...bitchy.

And at the moment, we were at a shaky impasse because I had seen her at a party with another guy. She had tried to play it off like nothing (but they had disappeared later). I would have paid anything to not have to talk to her, but she was at my locker.

"Ooh, hey Ella!" she laughed. I stifled the urge to roll my eyes at Allie.

"Hey, Miranda," I said, "Do you mind if I get by?"

"Hmmm?"

"My locker. You're leaning against it."

"Oh," laughed Miranda in her fake high laugh. Some of Charlie's friends from the soccer team turned to watch. Bloody hell, I thought.

"Oh, _Ellie_, I _always_ forget that this is _your_ locker! I mean I _know_ you're Charlie's _adopted_ sister, it's just I can't seem to remember it, even though you live in the _same_ house and _everything_," Miranda laughed again, moving from my locker to lean against Charlie. My ears were turning pink, I could feel it. I forced myself to smile nicely.

"Well, Miranda, I find it hard to believe you're Charlie's _girlfriend_ for all the _snogging_ I remember you two doing," I said, imitating her tone and regretting it instantly. The guys chuckled and, after a moment, Miranda laughed, too. But her dark eyes told me to go jump off a cliff.

"Ellie, you're _so_ funny."

"Thanks," I backed down immediately. In a way, I had forfeited this round to Miranda. Whatever. Why should I cause drama when it would only come back and bite me in the butt? Expert at avoiding confrontation, that's what I am.

"C'mon boys. Let's go to lunch."

Like a herd of sheep, the soccer team followed Miranda to the cafeteria, completely ignoring me. Except for Jeff. Jeff Conroy was Charlie's best friend and a star player on the team and was very, very good-looking. Every girl at Stonewall fancied him, including myself. I mean, the guy was gorgeous. And, besides his stud-jock status, he wasn't arrogant about it. He was always at our house, hanging out with Charlie, so he and I had become somewhat friends. He even called me "Smith Number Two." It wasn't anything like "Sweetie" or "Love of My Life" but it was a start.

"See you in Lit, Smith Number Two!" he called, winking at me.

I waved back, grinning from ear to ear, trying to ignore the heated blush creeping up my neck and the not-entirely-unpleasantly lurching of my heart. Jeff Conroy, he winked at me. _Winked_! Allie grabbed my arm as I felt all the air leave my lungs. I turned and looked at her.

"Did you see what I saw?" she whispered.

"I don't know. What did you see?" I whispered back.

"Jeff Conroy just _winked_ at you! _You_! I _hate_ you!"

I laughed outright.

Allie sighed. "It's _so_ not fair that you're Charlie's sister. I mean, you get to see that gorgeous thing practically every day, up close and personal. Just because you're his best friend's sister."

Allie was another on in Jeff Conroy's fan club. We had made a pact once that if he showed an interest in the other, we'd back off. But it was more of a joke than anything else.

I laughed. "Oh yes, it's all a brilliant strategy. Because the guy always falls for the best friend's sister. Every day. Just like the movies."

Allie laughed too. "Just like one day, you'll snap at Randy and put her in her place."

After Miranda had started calling me "Ellie," Allie and I started calling her "Randy" when we talked about her. I hate the name Ellie for myself. Allie's younger sister was Ellie and it suited her because she was tiny and cute. Me? I'm tall and gangly. Not the 'Ellie' type.

"Right. For sure." I shook my head. I was passive and thought it very unlikely that I'd ever stand up to Miranda.

"Well, you've got more of a chance than me with him," she mock-pouted.

"Don't get any ideas, Allie Walpole. Andrea swears she's got him wrapped around her little finger. Besides, Jeff Conroy wouldn't be interested in me. Charlie might threaten to beat him up."

Allie agreed. "Charlie beating someone up for his sister? That'll be the day broomsticks fly."

"That will be the same day Jeff Conroy asks me out."

"I would pay to see that."

"What are you paying for?" cut in Susan Watson, who was dragging Connor, her boyfriend, along by the hand.

"To see Jeff Conroy ask Ella out."

"Or Allie," I add, not wanting to be the only unwanted one in the group.

Susie rolled her eyes. "Get over yourself. It's just a guy."

"You can say that because you have one," Allie dug in pointedly.

"I _know_," Susan sighed dramatically. "And he's more trouble than he's worth."

"Well, _I_ am paying for lunch, so let's go. I'm hungry," Connor grumbled.

"I like you a lot too, Connor," Susan told him, rolling her eyes.

We found Justin and Kathleen, Rupert, Lara, and Nick at our table in the back of the cafeteria.

"So, anyone want to go to the soccer game tonight?" Lara asked.

"What's today, Monday?"

"Yeah. Monday, July twenty-eighth, 1997."

"Thanks, smarty-pants. I only wanted the day of the week," Allie said.

Lara stuck out her tongue.

"Well, I don't know if I can. Brant's got the car. I'll try to talk him into coming."

Rupert turned pink. "I know I can't."

Allie grinned. "Rupe here and my baby sister have an anniversary to celebrate."

Rupert blushed harder.

"Who are we playing?" inquired Connor.

"Not sure."

"I think we're playing Sylvan. I'd like to see that game. Last year they whomped us. This year we've got a decent team."

"But, _Connor_!" whined Susan.

"_Susan_, the double date can wait. Besides, it's _Monday. _Dates on Monday are ridiculous. Your mum wants you home before eleven. She still believes in curfew."

Justin smiled. "I'm with Connor."

Kathleen smacked her boyfriend. "Justin!"

"Ouch! Hey, I wanted to see the game, but you all came up with this plan before consulting me. Give me some credit, I didn't whine before!"

Kath shoot her head at him, but turned to Susan. "The guys are right though, Suze. Everyone's going to see that movie premiere tonight. We can get it at a cheaper price and be guaranteed a seat if we wait a few days."

Susan paused, but conceded.

"I'm up for whatever. As long as I have plans, I don't have to babysit Maggie again," Nick declared.

"And you?" Lara asked me.

"I don't know. I've been to most of the games already."

Mum and Dad had had this spell of family unity and had made everyone go to Charlie's games. Thank God that was over.

"Please, Ella! You're going to leave me stuck with all these couples!" Lara whined.

"_Jeff_ will be there," Suze put in.

"Ha. Ha." I rolled my eyes. Just because I fancied him, doesn't mean that I'm going to drop everything to watch him play.

"Hey, Smith Two! Let's go! You're gonna make me late for Lit!" I heard a familiar voice call.

Kath winked at me as I grabbed my books.

"Go get 'em, girl!"

My friends are losers.

"Your assignment, due tomorrow, is an analysis of your social life: your friends, family, and neighbors. Describe them and others you associate with…even if I happen to know them."

I groaned along with the class. Mrs. Burbage continued, talking about our assignment, while passing out her rubric. Literature was usually an interesting class, but writing wasn't easy for me. I couldn't string sentences together like Susan, nor could I deliver them with a flourish the way Kathleen could. The bell rang and I hurried down the corridors to my locker, glad the day was over, but wishing Mrs. Burbage so very far away. I was so preoccupied I didn't notice someone fall in line with me.

"Ella?"

Startled, I looked up into the blue eyes of Jeff Conroy. "Err…hey."

For all that my friends thought that I'm such great friends with him, I still was so tongue-tied around this kid.

"You okay? I was calling you."

"Yeah, sorry, there. Just frustrated with this Burbage crap."

And now distracted by your gorgeousness.

"Oh," he grinned, looking _extremely_ gorgeous, "I hate that sort of thing. So. Err…Ella, are you going to see the game tonight?"

"Game?"

My brain scrambled frantically for the context of the word "game".

"Oh, right, soccer. I wasn't planning on it. See, Mum and Dad aren't going so I haven't got a ride—I know Charlie and Miranda are going somewhere afterwards. I suppose Justin could give me a ride but he's also driving Nick and Kathleen and Lara. And maybe Allie, but I'm not sure. It all has to do with whether or not her twin has the car…"

Stop babbling, stupid git!

"I'll give you a ride home."

I had to remind myself not to gape. My ears turned red, annoying habit that I have, as I struggled for something to say. Speak, stupid git, I yelled at myself.

"Sure. That'd be great. Thanks."

"Well, catch you up," he said, grinning.

Somehow I got to my locker. Susan and Kathleen and Lara and Justin and Nick and Ellie and Rupert and Allie and Brant and Connor were all there. I barely noticed them as I opened my locker and collected my books.

"Hello? _Hell-LO_!" called Susan waving her hand in my face, "Earth to Ella! In case you've forgotten, Ella Smith, I was talking to you! You need to come back. Are you going to the game or not?"

I grinned and laughed, probably longer than necessary.


	3. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **That last chapter was mostly an introduction to Ella Smith's world, not really supposed to get the plot moving. Ella's mine, as well as her friends, but the rest, well, JK Rowling thought of 'em first.

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CHAPTER 2 **

_Ella Smith_

_Literature: Social Circles_

_Family_

_I was adopted into the Smith family when I was seven years old. I have little memories of my life before that. _

I sat at the desk in my room, staring at the paper before me. I hadn't a clue what to do about Burbage's assignment. I was supposed to write a brief paragraph before describing the members of that particular category. The Smiths were my family, I knew that, adopted or not. But at times I felt left out. Thinking of Miranda's remark from earlier, I wrote ferociously:

_Though I am adopted, the Smiths __are__ my family. Molly Smith, is my mother, the only mother I have ever known. The same is for Dad and Sophie, Charlie, and Colin (as the only father, sister, and brothers I have ever known). _

Then I remembered someone else. I _did_ have one connection to my biological family: an older brother that was not a Smith. I decided I probably should include that. But I felt as if it would ruin what I had written.

_John "Jack" Smith:__ My adopted father. He works as a newspaper reporter. He has brown hair and brown eyes. He also can smooth over any chaos at home and loves to read newspaper stories aloud, especially the ones he wrote. _

_Molly Smith:__ My adopted mother. She is a stay-at-home mum. She has brown hair and blue eyes. She manages to keep all of us in line and the house spotless at the same time._

_Sophia "Sophie" Smith: __My older adopted sister. She is twenty years old and currently living at home. She has long brown hair and blue eyes. I envy her because she always manages to look drop-dead gorgeous._

_Charles "Charlie" Smith:__ My (slightly) older adopted brother. He is seventeen and has blond-brown hair and brown eyes. We are often considered 'twins' because of our ages. Mrs. Burbage, you know my brother. _

_Colin Smith:__ My younger adopted brother. He is ten years old and has blond-brown hair and brown eyes. He is very cute and tiresome at the same time. _

_Ella Smith:__ Me. I am seventeen and have red hair and blue eyes. I am a senior at Stonewall High, I like playing field hockey (I am a goalie) and hanging out with my friends. I'm a bit of a klutz. I tend to make things explode without any reason. And I'm sure that's all there is to me. _

I sat back and looked at what I had written so far. I crossed out all the 'adopted.' I hated that word. I didn't like what I wrote about myself but that's about all I would reveal to Bird-Brain Burbage. I also crossed out the exploding part—it didn't work with the following sentence—and I'd rather Burbage didn't know that.

_Emily Knobbins__: My aunt. She is my mother's younger sister. She lives just around the corner. She was married and is now divorced. She always has time for me. _

It sounded corny, I suppose, the "always has time for me," but it was true. She always talked to me when I needed help and treated me as her niece or even as a daughter. I had caught her more than once watching me with an odd expression on her face.

_Joshua 'Josh' Knobbins:__ My cousin. He is seven years old and has brown hair and brown eyes. He is very mischievous and get into all sorts of trouble. He is also very gullible. _

_Ethan Knobbins:__ My cousin. He is nine years old and has brown hair and brown eyes. He is mischievous like his brother, and likes to trick Josh._

I smiled, knowing that the word 'mischievous' hardly did Josh and Ethan justice. Well, that finished my family, I thought, hurriedly pushing my other brother from my mind. Now, for my friends.

_Friends _

_My friends at Stonewall are absolutely brilliant. We always have a good time together. I don't think I could've survived my school years without them. _

_Kathleen Hullord:__ She has brown hair and blue eyes. She is very much into theatre. I met her when we were in grammar school. We didn't get along at first but now we are best mates. Being in the same mathematics class with a rather unimpressive teacher and rowdy class does that. _

_Justin Callaghan: __Justin has blond hair and brown eyes. He is very into sports—or he likes to pretend to be, though he only plays hockey. He is quite a skeptic when it comes to theatre, though I know he has gone to every show his girlfriend has performed in. _

_Lara Jones:__ Lara is probably the only other person, besides Sophie, who can do anything about my hair—her almost-black hair is always perfect. She probably is the prettiest of all my friends, which is hard because all my friends are fabulous. She has green eyes. She is very outgoing and friendly…and smart—really smart. _

_Alison Walpole__: I met Allie through field hockey. We've been playing on the same team since we were nine. She has blonde hair and green eyes. _

_Brant Walpole: __Allie's twin brother, he is blonde and green-eyed also. He and I didn't get along very well at first, but now we're pretty close. He plays cricket, too. _

_Ellen Walpole:__ Ellie is Allie's younger sister—she, like her siblings, has blonde hair and green eyes. She also is into cricket. She is very outgoing and funny—sometimes I think she is trying to distinguish herself from her siblings. _

_Rupert Garside:__ He is pretty much my closest guy friend. He's got red hair like myself. There's a joke about us being long-lost siblings. He is funny and crazy but can be shy. _

_Susan Watson__: Probably the most forward person you may ever meet is Susan Watson. She has blonde hair and hazel eyes and can grab anyone's attention. Everyone's jealous of her. She's very fashionable. _

_Nick Holmes:__ Nick is one of the crazy guys who scare people quite easily. He's got brown hair, brown eyes. He and Suze have been best friends since forever. _

_Connor Lloyd: __Connor is really athletic—he plays so many sports I can never keep track. He has blondish hair and brown eyes. He and Susan are going out. _

That was the rough outline of the crowd I hung out with. They were all so amazing and close to me; they were like my sisters and brothers.

Thinking of brothers, I added one more person to my list of family members.

_Fred X:__ Fred is my older biological brother—he took the time to seek me out when I was eleven. We hang out every other Saturday. He has red hair and freckles and brown eyes. He is very funny and entertaining. He wants to open up a magical joke shop. I don't know his last name—my last name, because we decided it was best that way. Because of this I call him Fred X as a bit of a joke. He is two years older than me. _

I couldn't add much more about Fred because, well, I didn't know that much about him. However, I connected with him the moment he introduced himself when I was eleven. He was the perfect brother, except for his numerous practical jokes. I could tell him anything. But he wouldn't tell me my mother's or father's names, or my siblings—I didn't even know if I had any—though he dropped hints that we did. He was so mysterious, but he was my brother and so natural at being a brother, we were very close. We wrote letters—he apparently didn't have a telephone or a computer. He complained that 'my' way of postal service was far too slow. I often felt like he was hiding something from me—boy, was I right.

-----------

I looked up from my homework and realized that it was time for the soccer match. Hurriedly I ran to my closet, but—what do I wear? I thought. I was wearing jeans and a tee-shirt—not the sort of thing you wear to a game! Okay, well maybe it was, but _not_ to a game where you would be driven home by a beautiful boy you fancied. I ransacked my closet, but could find nothing.

Hell, I thought, I might as well wear that ugly maroon sweater I got for Christmas. Thinking of the horrendous sweater, I was reminded of a blue shirt I liked that I had shoved under the sweater a month ago. Eagerly, I pulled open my bottom drawer and rummaged. I pulled the out the sweater and, sure enough, underneath it was the blue shirt. I grabbed it and broke out into a major victory dance. But, just as I collapsed on my bed, I noticed a spider, a giant spider, crawling from my shirt towards my arm.

Okay, it wasn't giant. It was an average-sized spider. But anything that is creepy-crawly with eight legs and makes webs terrifies me.

For a second, I was paralyzed, but then I dropped the shirt and jumped onto my bed, screaming.

Sophie breezed into my room. First, she saw me standing on my bed yelling. Then she saw the pile of clothes all over.

She raised an eyebrow.

"SPIDER!" I yelled.

"I figured as much," she rolled her eyes. "Where?"

I pointed at my shirt. She laughed a little bit under her breath. Everyone knew I was terrified of spiders. Finding me in this sort of predicament was nothing out of the norm for members of the Smith family. Grabbing a tissue, she killed the nasty creature and dumped it in the trash can. Then she turned and looked at me.

"What are you doing?—_before_ the spider incident."

"Getting dressed," I blushed.

"Going somewhere?" she asked.

"Charlie's game," I told her.

"And you're destroying your closet…for _soccer_?"

I blushed harder, the tips of my ears turning crimson. "Jeff Conroy is driving me home."

Sophie's eyes widened. "Jeff Conroy—John Conroy's little brother? Well done, little sis. _That_ is a reason to panic. Here…" She pulled out a pair of jeans, grabbed a white Stonewall High tee-shirt and lent me a gray sweatshirt with different colors all over it. I had no other shoes other than my much drawn-on, decorated, tennis shoes. Sophie then continued with makeup, until the zit on my chin was completely gone and my blue eyes were popping out—yet it looked like I was wearing no makeup. Such was the magic of Sophie. She smiled at me and ordered me to shoo. I raced downstairs and found Justin pulling up.

"Hey, are you sure this is the right person—it doesn't look like the Ella Smith I know!" hollered Kathleen out the window. I grinned and climbed in the backseat.

"I agree," said Nick, pretending to study me closer. "She had a huge blemish on her chin earlier…and she's much too cute-looking to be Elle." I punched him in the stomach.

"That's the power of makeup, Nicholas," I told him.

"It's Ella, alright, Kath. No other girl would punch my handsome self in the stomach."

I laughed and punched him in the arm.

"Alright, alright! I surrender! You look absolutely smashing, darling. As always."

"That's more like it," I told him.

We passed the Walpoles' house and saw Rupert picking up Ellen for their anniversary.

Rupert had a crush on Ellie since the moment they met, forever ago and they started going steady five months ago. They were _so_ adorable together.

As Rupert leaned over to kiss Ellie's cheek, Justin blew the horn and Nick blew kisses in their direction. Rupert turned bright red, but Ellie laughed and kissed him full on the mouth. Nick wolf-whistled and Ellie gave him thumbs' up.

We laughed and continued on our way to pick up Lara.

-----------

Once at the game, we had to crane our necks to find Susan and Connor. Finally Nick spotted them—or rather Susan's pink shirt.

We ran up the bleachers and found a whole bench had been saved for us. I plopped down next to Susan and grinned at her.

"So, Suzy, 'fess up—you and Connor were snogging up a storm," demanded Nick as he sat down, trying to squish between me and Susan. In her shoes, I'd have turned a brilliant shade of crimson, but Susan merely laughed and tossed her head.

"Whatever you want to think, Nick Holmes."

Susan and Nick have known each other forever. They grew up next door to each other—and they love to tease each other about the stupid things they did. They also were each other's first kiss, and they were going pretty steady up until last year. I don't think Nick really got over it, but they're still pretty close, the same Watson and Holmes as always.

As Nick and Susan started arguing about snogging and pink shirts, I turned my attention to the field. The players were warming up. Charlie was over in the goal, blocking kicks from the coach. I craned, trying to find Jeff, but I couldn't see him. My heart sank a little. But then I found him. He had been behind Ben, a huge kid who played defense because players ran into him and fell down.

Feeling relieved, I turned back to my friends. Nick and Susan were still arguing—Connor was talking sports with Justin and Brant. They were arguing about Manchester United or something. Lara, who had slid next to me, grinned.

"Who comes to games to talk about sports?"

I agreed.

"_I _go to watch the players," she winked at me. She nodded towards the field. The players were shaking hands—the start of the game.

There was number two, Jeffrey Conroy. He looked lovely in our school colors. My heart thumped.

I stuck my tongue out at her. She laughed and grinned broadly at me.

"How ever are you getting home from the game? I mean, it's not like you have a brother on the team, nor all your chums in attendance."

I blushed to the roots of my hair. "Who told you?"

"A little birdie."

"Named?"

"Wouldn't you like to know!"

"Yes, I would, actually."

"One of the girls who sits behind you in Lit…Andrea? She came up after class Friday and demanded if it were true that Jeff had asked to drive you home from the soccer game. I told her that you hadn't said anything and she told me that she had been walking behind you two and heard everything. Why didn't you tell anyone?"

I made a face. "I didn't want to jinx it, y'know? And…" I lowered my head closer to Lara's. "I didn't want to hurt Allie's feelings. I know she fancies him as much as I do."

"You're silly, Ella. Allie understands. Didn't you two make that pact?"

"Yeah…"

"Then don't be silly!"

"Okay. Hey, Lara, guess what? Jeff Conroy's driving me home from today's match."

"That's more like it."

She hugged me and we turned and watched as the first whistle sounded.

-----------

The first few minutes were exciting—I guess. I don't really follow soccer, even if my brother's on the team, but I tried. Soccer's not my sport, field hockey is. I mostly just watched Jeff for the first half. But even as fun as that was, my friends were way too distracting. Brant and Justin were throwing Nick's shoe around, while Nick chased them all over. We got Connor to buy us hot dogs and candy and chips and fountain drinks from the vendors—Susan guilted him into it. Kathleen and Susan began talking about writing a show for their club, while Susan painted Lara's nails (Susan always has nail polish with her). Allie and I discussed and analyzed and gossiped about our field hockey team.

The soccer game ended with Stonewall defeating the other team 6-0. Our game ended with Nick substituting my shoe for his. Since I didn't mind, the boys entertained themselves by throwing it around. However, as soon as the game was over, they were all gone.

Lara's mother actually picked her up half an hour before the game was over. Justin drove Kathleen home and Susan and Connor wandered off somewhere holding hands. Allie and Brant's mother wanted them to pick up some groceries and Nick saw some girl he knew and went to go bother her. So I was left alone to make my way down the stands to find Charlie and Jeff.

You'd have thought they knew to clear out.

I found Charlie outside the locker room. He and Miranda were snogging. Gag me. I just kind of gave him a little wave and walked away. I wasn't waiting for Jeff there. That made me realize that I was waiting around for Jeff—did that seem weird? Was that a little odd? Something told me it wasn't cool.

But there was no choice—he promised to drive me home. Unless he made other plans, with some other girl.

I was sitting on the bleachers, waiting for Jeff when I realized that there was someone behind me. I turned around and saw Piers Polkiess and Malcolm something-or-other.

Bloody hell, I thought.

"Hey there, Ella." I rolled my eyes as Piers sat down next to me. Piers lived near me and had made himself a holy terror. Him and the rest of Dudley Dursley's gang. They went around beating up grammar school kids these days. I couldn't stand them in grammar school; thank God he went to Smeltings with Dudley. I don't think I could stand it if he went to Stonewall. All I could ever think of was how he and Dudley beat up Dudley's cousin, a poor kid who lost his parents in a car accident when he was a baby.

Piers apparently expected a response.

"Geez, Ella…gonna answer me? It's polite to answer someone—"

"Hullo, Polkiess."

"Aw, c'mon, Ella. We're neighbors, friends even. We're on a first name basis."

I got up. I wasn't going to take any crap from this kid. But he pulled me down before I could get away.

"Ella, don't be like that. I just wanted to talk. We haven't talked in a long time."

"Yeah. Okay, look—I got to—"

"I could give you a ride home if you want. Show you my new car. Pops just bought it for me, since my last one was totaled."

If this was trying to impress me, it was working against him.

"Look, I have a ride. But thanks."

This time I got up and got off the bleachers. I didn't care how desperate or uncool I looked to Jeff; I wasn't hanging round to be bothered by the thugs. Actually I was so bent on getting away from Piers, I ran into Jeff.

"Whoa. Hey, Ella."

"Oh...Err…hey Jeff."

"Where you going so fast? You still need a ride?" He tensed for a second.

"Yeah, actually I do still need one. You mind?"

"Not at all," he smiled.

I grinned back and he led the way through the crowd towards the parking lot. He must have noticed me looking over my shoulder because he asked me why. I shrugged and opened my mouth to tell him about Piers, but decided not to say anything. He seemed to notice and raised one eyebrow. I just shook my head.

"So, what did you think of the game?"

I blushed. "Well, what I saw of it, you were brilliant."

"Thanks. Charlie was great, too."

I rolled my eyes. "He's Charlie, isn't he? He better be good or he'll lose his team position, and maybe even his girlfriend."

"Miranda?"

"Yeah. Her."

"You don't get along with Miranda?"

"We don't _not_ get along."

My problem with Miranda Cavendish is that she brings up with fact that I'm adopted every single time I'm there. I'm really touchy about the whole adopted thing. I mean, it's who I am and everything, but still…that's not something that needs to be brought up. And it's like she's trying to drive a wedge between Charlie and I. It's just not something I'm really comfortable talking about it, not in front of Miranda and especially not in front of Jeff.

"Oy! Smith, running away from us?"

I didn't stop walking, but Jeff did. He turned around and faced the little snot-nosed kid. I sighed and turned around too.

"Going to introduce us to your boyfriend, Smith?"

I blushed.

Oh great, now it had to be awkward.

"Err—he's not my—"

Jeff cut me off. "Jeff Conroy. Who are you?"

Piers introduced himself and his friend. Next to Jeff, who was tall and obviously took full advantage of the fitness centre in the basement of Stonewall, Piers was just a short, little skinny kid and Malcolm, well, Malcolm needed a diet badly. They didn't stand a chance, unless of course, 'Big D' and the rest of his gang showed up.

"You know these guys, Elle?"

"Know us—know us! _Elle_ and I, we used to be real good mates back in the day. She always had the hots for me. Always tagging after me and the rest of the gang. "

Red-hot anger flowed through me. How dare he! My anger must have showed on my face because Piers stopped talking and removed his hand from my shoulder, where he had placed it. However, it was just to take off his sunglasses that had been perched on the end of his nose (trying to look cool)—the lenses of which were now quite cracked. He stared at the glasses for a moment.

_Bloody hell._ I had done it again. Snapped, lost my temper and something else broke. Would he notice?

Piers shook his head. "Must've broken them during that last fight, eh Malcolm? Stupid little grammar school boy jumped me. I taught him a lesson all right."

I glowered. How could anyone think that picking on little kids was fun? I looked at Jeff. He was frowning.

"Aw, chill, Ella. I'm just teasing. We're friends, right, and friends can tease each other. I tease you. You tease me. Lots of _teasing _involved."

From the way he said it and the way he wagged his eyebrows at me, I knew his version of 'teasing' had nothing to do with joking around with one's chums.

"Shut the hell up."

Piers ignored me completely and turned to Jeff, who looked like he was struggling a bit with his temper. Or laughter. I never could read guys, but he did look more angry than amused.

I hoped.

"You been teased by Elle here, Conroy?" My mouth fell open. The nerve—the balls!—of him to say something that insinuating in front of me! And to Jeff! My ears went violent crimson. "She's quite a _tease_."

I will not hit him. I will not hit him. I will _not _hit him.

Jeff tried to change the subject, talking of cars or sports or something. I wasn't paying attention to the conversation at all. I had a quick temper—stereotypical ginger, I know. I had to work to control it. I made things smash when I got angry.

"—She's adopted, so it's not a problem."

My head snapped up. "Pardon?"

Piers sighed mock-patiently.

"Keep up, Ella, _please_," He reached over at put his hand on the back of my neck. I tried to shake him off but he just kept squeezing my neck.

"_Adopted_. You know, some whore of a mother didn't want her kid and so dumped them at an orphanage—"

"You prick!" I spluttered. A tsunami of anger flooded through me. More than just his bloody sunglasses were going to get broken. Maybe his damned new car might explode. He deserved it. I pushed his arm away from me and took a step towards him, arm raised. I was actually going to hit him if Jeff hadn't grabbed my arm.

"Ella."

He gave me a look as he slid his hand down my arm and laced his fingers through mine. My anger ebbed and my heart was now racing for a completely different reason. How fickle am I? I thought. Piers smirked at me. Anger flared again, but Jeff squeezed my fingers. Satisfied I wasn't going to impale Piers, Jeff turned to them himself.

"I don't know you, but I bloody well don't want to hear anymore of your stupid bull about my girl. Got it?"

He looked really intimidating when he said that, _I_ almost believed him. Even the 'my girl' sounded real. Abruptly, Jeff turned and dragged me after him, heading towards his car. I turned around and saw Piers stare after us, then turn and push Malcolm in the opposite direction, but not before cursing us off in sign language.

I looked at Jeff and realized he wasn't speaking. I also realized I was still gripping his hand. I didn't exactly want to let go but, what if he didn't realize he still held mine?

"Err…thanks a lot…and sorry about that," I apologized lamely. I tried slightly to take my hand away, not too strongly, but he didn't let go.

"How do you know him?"

"Neighbor. He went to grammar school with me before he and Dudley went to Smeltings, thank God."

"Dursley?"

"Yeah. He's part of that gang that goes around picking on grammar school kids. I guess Harry just got too big to pick on…" I muttered.

"Harry?"

"You know, Harry Potter? The Dursleys' nephew. His parents died in a car crash when he was a baby so the Dursleys took care of him. Dudley always picked on him at school. Lots of strange things happened to him there. Poor kid."

"I remember him. Skinny, broken glasses, messy hair. Sent to that place for criminal kids, wasn't he? St. Brutus?"

"I suppose."

"Always felt bad for the guy. He was odd."

I ripped my hand out of his. "So? What's wrong with being a little different? Just cause he isn't exactly like the rest of us? Just cause he hasn't got any parents—"

Okay, I was overreacting, but it was a subject close to my own heart.

"Whoa, Smith Number Two. Calm down," Jeff had stopped walking and placed his hands on my shoulders, forcing me to face him. "I guess that's a touchy subject with you."

My ears were on fire. Jeff probably thought I was a freak. I couldn't look at him so I just nodded.

He laughed, "Oh come on, Elle. You can look at me, I understand."

I wouldn't look at him. He'd just make fun of me. I couldn't explain to him that I had been made fun of for stuff like Harry and I couldn't understand it, though my incidents were not as crazy as Harry's. He had ended up on the roof of the school kitchens—I blew up pens.

Jeff tried to pull my chin up, but I just tucked it back down. Okay, I was being ridiculous. But most girls are around a guy they fancied.

"Ella, you're an oddball. I mean, first you almost killed that kid—"

Angry, I snapped my head up at him. "Did not!"

He was grinning, laughing. "Gotcha, Smith."

I laughed, a little embarrassed. "Yeah I guess so." I rubbed the back of my neck.

"Your neck okay?"

"Yeah. No problems."

"Let me look."

"No!"

"C'mon, Elle, I'm just going to check your neck for lice. I swear, that kid probably has some."

It was really awkward, him standing behind me while I held my hair up. He was tracing his fingers up and down my neck, giving me the shivers. Then I felt his fingers pulling my shirt's collar back.

"Hey!" I spun around. "Perv!"

"Kidding!" He threw up his hands and ran away.

I chased him, a little angry, a little thrilled. I chased him to his car where we stood on either side of the hood, feinting to either side, trying to catch the other. After chasing him around the car a few times, I sat down on the hood.

"I give up."

He sat down next to me. "I never took you for a quitter, Smith."

I punched him in the arm. "I never took you for a git, Conroy."

"Conroy and Smith, the Git and the Quitter."

"More like Conroy and Smith, The Loser and the Winner. Respectively."

"More like Conroy and Smith...err…I don't know…the boy and the girl...respectively."

"That was awful."

"It was, wasn't it?"

"Bloody awful."

"Language, Smith."

We sat there for a while bantering, dare I say flirting, as it slowly got darker. It was just past sunset when he suggested we head home. However as we got in the car, a weird feeling swept through me. I was suddenly very, very, very cold. Icy fingers crawled down my back as terror and panic began building up within me. I had no idea what was going on. I glanced over at Jeff, who was rubbing his hands together.

"Odd weather we're having, eh?" he said, his teeth chattering.

"Yeah," I said, "Weird."

My voice was tight in my throat and I fought down a surge of nausea. I now was wrapped in a cold panic. Jeff seemed so far away as he turned on the car.

I tried to roll down the window, thinking I was lightheaded. I glanced out the window and immediately wished I hadn't.

I had never seen anything so horrible; or rather I hadn't seen something that horrible in a long time. Huge, robed _things _were swooping around, somewhat in the distance, and a strange whistling rattling sound seemed to come from them.

I pinched myself, hoping this might be a dream. It was quite like a horror film. Looking at Jeff again, I realized that he hadn't seen them.

"Jeff, do you see that?"

"See what?"

I pointed, and he looked in that direction, but all he did was squint.

"Sorry, Elle, I don't see anything. Is it that Polkiess kid again?"

I stared at him for a moment. How could he not see it? I simply shook my head and Jeff turned the car on and drove out of there—a little faster than necessary. He seemed calm, but his hands were gripping the steering wheel tightly, and a slight sweat had broken out on his forehead. Me, I was clutching the seat belt with my life. I caught sight of myself in the side mirrors—my face was pale, freckles standing out, my eyes wide. As I stared at my reflection, I saw something flash. I turned around and saw another flash and one of the things spinning away. But one thing headed towards us, flying. Again, panic began to break over me and suddenly strange images flashed before my eyes…

All sorts of horrible, embarrassing memories surfaced before my eyes, before images began to play across my mind, things I couldn't ever remember seeing before, but yet were strangely and terrifyingly familiar.

…_A flash of bright green light…_

…_Shouts of words that seemed to be in a foreign language…or maybe Latin? …_

…_Dozens of stars forming a huge glittery skull with a snake threaded through its mouth…_

…_Long robed men standing in a circle…_

These and other images flashed through me until one single, vivid moment formed in my mind and before I could stop it I was watching it as if it were my own personal horror story.

…_A strange woman with long, dark, wild hair stands with her back to me. Her long robe blows around her as she rolls up her sleeve to reveal a tattoo on her forearm—I can't make out what it is. She moves her opposite hand to press the tattoo and I find myself squeaking as she does. She swings towards me, dark eyes glinting. _

"_That's right, Weasel. You bloody well should be scared of my Dark Mark. I've summoned the Dark Lord. Best stay away or Nagini will be having a little bit of a snack, now won't she?" _

_As she speaks she gets closer and closer. My terror mounts as she pushes her face into mine. "Snakes eat Weasels, best remember that, dearie. Dearie little Weasel. Dearie little baby Weasels are snakes' favorite munchies."_

_Shaking, I try to back up and stumble and fall. I do not fall to the ground but fall against something. I turn just in time to see a small cauldron, which looks like a witches' brew if there ever was one, fall to the side and spill its contents onto the floor. Immediately I am grabbed from behind and see the fury on the woman's face. _

"_You brat! You little bitch! Look at what you've done!" she shrieks. I cower in a corner, searching desperately for an exit. The woman pulls a thin stick out of her pocket and waves it a bit—the liquid comes off the floor and back into the cauldron. The contents safe again, I think hopefully, but the woman turns on me. Snarling, she lifts me up and hurls me across the room. I land in a heap on the floor and she charges. Kicking at me, my head and ribs and lungs burn with pain. _

"Stop_." _

_I look up and instead of finding a savior, I see a chalk-white man with red, horrid eyes, a man who looks very much like the snake by his side. Reaching a new level of terror, I crawl further into the corner, behind my first attacker. _

"_My Lord," the woman bows. _

"_You were given a fairly simple task and you seem to be having trouble with it." _

"_Not at all, my...my Lord, the weasel—"_

_The man turns his eyes on me. He regards me for a moment. _

"_Animals must be house-trained if one wishes to keep a pet, even one as unusual as your weasel, Bellatrix." _

_He raises his own wand—I am quaking, I am in trouble. And I am right, my head immediately splits open in pain. Everything in my body hurts—the pain is so agonizing, it is indescribable. I am being ripped apart. Trying to move every which way to ease this torture, I kick and squirm and twitch. Suddenly it stops. I am left gasping, crying, twitching with reminisces of the anguish. _

"_Muggles"—he says this word with utter disdain—"teach young laboratory rats to travel through a maze by shocking them with electricity when they've made a wrong turn. The prize at the end of the maze is cheese. This is a very similar experiment: we are teaching a very young weasel how to behave. Unfortunately, my dear, you have taken a wrong turn. _Crucio_." _

_Once again, my body is racked with pain, jolts of 'electricity' shooting through me, cramping and stretching and snapping and mangling my body._

_He waves the wand again and I find myself dropping. In the anguish I did not realize I had been levitating. I smash into the ground, twisting my leg painfully under me. I cradle my leg to my body as I try to hide myself into the corner. _

"_No cheese for you today, Weasel." Both the man and woman laugh. The snake hisses and begins to crawl towards me. _

"_No, Nagini, not today. She has learned her lesson." Temporary relief washes over me until the woman, Bellatrix, picks me up and I am tossed into a tiny room with only a small blanket in the corner. I crawl there, nursing my leg, and begin to cry…_

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**Reviews :D**


	4. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **I didn't think Chapter 2 was that much of a cliff-hanger, but okay! Here's Chapter 3! I don't own Harry Potter! :(

**

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****CHAPTER 3**

I pulled myself up, sweat running off my face. I smacked into something. Panicking, I pulled myself backwards, only to realize I had hit Jeff's forehead. He was bent over me, concern written on his face. I blinked and took a second to transport myself to this world.

"Elle? Elle? Are you okay? Don't ever do that again!"

"Jeff? Jeff. Oh, I'm sorry. What happened?"

"You passed out! I've been trying to get you around for…hours!"

"Really?" My head was spinning and I still felt weak. A dull throbbing pulsed in my leg. Jeff's face, so close, was very anxious. I made myself focus on that.

"Not quite hours. More like one hour, dear. It's eight o'clock."

I looked around and realized that I was in my bedroom. Mum was in the doorway.

"How long was I out? Seriously? How'd I get here?"

"Dear, Jeffrey brought you home almost twenty minutes ago." Mum crossed the room calmly over to me and placed her hand on my head.

"You passed out right after we left the match. I started freaking out when you wouldn't answer back. I must've flown through town."

"How did I get up here?"

Mum nodded in Jeff's direction. He had made room for her and was now sitting on the end of my bed. Looking around, I realized my room was clean, not in the state it was in when I left. _Thank you, Sophie. I owe you. _

"Jeff carried you upstairs. Charlie isn't home yet."

I felt my ears reddening, Jeff had carried me?

"Well…err…thanks a lot, Jeff. Seriously, I don't know what's wrong with me. I'll be fine though. Really."

It was the truth. I think.

"Sure?" Jeff seemed really worried.

"Yeah," I smiled, "All I really want to do now is sleep."

As I said this, I realized that if I went to sleep I was going to have nightmares. But my body wanted sleep and I could not suppress the yawn that cracked my jaw. I settled back against my pillows and faked drooping eyelids, which wasn't that hard. Mum pulled down my blinds and signaled to Jeff to leave. I kept my eyes slightly opened as I listened to their conversation.

"Thank you so much, Jeff. I appreciate you giving her a ride home tonight and I am very grateful you were with her when she fainted."

"No problem, Mrs. Smith. Glad to help her out. She'll be alright, won't she?"

"Of course, Jeff. A little sleep and everything will be right as rain."

They were leaving the room and heading down the stairs, their conversation muffled when suddenly I heard my mother gasp and someone running up the stairs.

For a fleeting moment, I saw the woman from my dream charging in to attack me again and panic surged through me again.

"You can't go in there—she's not well—!"

My door flew open and standing in the doorway was a stocky young man with wild red hair and freckles. It was Fred. His usually laughing eyes were serious and anxious.

"Alright, eh, Elle?"

As concerned as his eyes were, his manner was teasing, as always.

Jeff entered the room moments later, followed by my mother. Jeff glared at Fred, sizing him up. Fred seemed unaware of Jeff, his eyes were on me.

I gave Fred a look and he turned to Mum.

"Hullo, Mrs. Smith. I do apologize for this. I was on my way over and Emily's owl—err, I mean, uh, I ran into Emily and she told me something happened."

"Well, good day to you too, Fred. Honestly, you gave us all a fright. Almost more of a fright than Ella has given us."

Fred had had dinner at our house a few times and Mum and Dad loved him. He was like a cousin to the rest of the house. But Jeff didn't know who this stranger was.

Jeff was standing there with a confused expression on his face. He looked at Fred, Mum and me. He shrugged and offered his hand to Fred.

"I'm Jeff Conroy, friend of Ella's."

"I'm Fred, Elle's brother."

"Brother?" Jeff was really confused.

"Biological. The resemblance is uncanny, I know," he grinned. "Y'know, red hair, freckles, and the like. Honestly, she looks more like Ro—," Fred stopped, glancing at me, "Anyway, I need to speak to Elle alone for a moment. Please."

Mum took the dumbstruck Jeff by the arm and steered him out of the room, closing the door behind them. Fred looked thoughtful as he sat down at the end of the bed.

"Your boyfriend?"

My ears, as always, turned bright red. "No! He's just a friend."

"Better stay that way."

I glared at him. He was infuriating when it came to boys and me.

"Don't get me wrong, sis. He's good-looking, great personality, I'm sure…"

Rolling my eyes, I folded my arms.

"Look if you're just here to bash Jeff, I'll go downstairs."

"Actually, I am here for another reason. I mean, I can't try Puking Pastilles on you; you're already a bit queasy looking. What happened? You're not usually in bed this early?"

"Puking...Pastilles?"

"Makes you vomit as to get out of class. Downright useful."

"How's the joke shop?" Fred had dropped out of school last year to start a practical joke shop. It seemed like it was going well, though Fred wouldn't share details.

"Excellent. But no changing the subject, why are you in bed?"

I was embarrassed by what happened by now. But maybe, I wasn't crazy.

"You're going to think I'm mental."

"Too late."

I kicked him under the covers before telling him what happened.

"Jeff was giving me a ride from his game and this one bloke I can't stand was annoying us. Every time I see him, I think of how he and Dudley treated poor Harry Potter in grammar school—"

"—Wait, did you say _Harry Potter_?"

"Yeah. Why? You know him?"

"Matter of fact, I do—never mind." Fred's face was very odd.

"You went to the school for criminal blokes?"

Fred looked really confused. Finally he told me to continue the story. When I got to the hooded things coming out of the sky, he cursed. I continued, telling him about my dream. As I went more into detail, Fred's expression became more and more pained. When I finished, Fred got up and paced the room. This was so different from the brother I knew, the mischievous prankster, that I thought maybe something was wrong with him. Maybe he really thought I was crazy. But then again, he hadn't made any disbelieving faces when I told him what happened.

Finally, Fred whistled, a low sighing whistle. He turned to me, his eyes dead serious.

"Ella, what do you know about me?"

"You're my brother. You like pranks. You like keeping secrets from me. Your name is Fred. I don't know."

"Exactly, you don't really know bloody anything about me, do you? No. You don't. I've managed that for a few years now. But, Ella, I don't think I can hide anymore from you now. Dumbledore had wanted you to grow up normally, but you can't help being different from them."

Dumbledore? Normally? Them? What was he talking about?

"How am I different? How are _you_ different? What the hell are you talking about, Fred?"

"Ella, do you believe in magic?"

"What!?"

"What if I were to tell you that you have six brothers and one sister, two parents, not too far away, all living, and magical abilities?"

"What? Fred, you've lost it. I'm not the crazy one. You are."

"Ella, listen to me. How can I prove to you that magic is real?" He pulled a wand out of his pocket, very similar to that of the ones I had seen in my dream. I cringed away from it.

"Please, put it away."

Fred looked confused, but tucked it back into his pocket.

"I'll Apparate."

"Apparate?"

"Disappear from one place—Disapparate—and then reappear somewhere else—Apparate."

"Err…okay."

With a loud crack, he was gone. No smoke, nothing to make me think he was a street magician. No, silly, he's a practical joker. He's trying to lead me on some wild goose chase. Yet…why would he tell me about my family? He was always careful not to reveal anything, even in jest.

Suddenly he appeared standing next to me. I blinked.

"Believe me?"

"Smoke and mirrors! Fred, it's impossible. You did something."

This went on and on, Fred trying all sorts of tricks to prove to me magic was real. I marveled at the extent of his talent, but he only became more and more frustrated. Several times he shook me, but I refused to believe him. How could I? Magic was not something a mature, smart, practical person believes in. Finally, he slumped down on the bed.

"What else can I do? I tried, I tried." Suddenly his head snapped up. "If this doesn't work, nothing else will. You're coming with me."

"Where? Fred, it's a school night. Mum won't let me out!"

Ignoring me, Fred walked downstairs and I heard him talking to Mum. After a few minutes he returned.

"C'mon. We're going to meet your—our—parents."

My eyes widened. My real parents? Immediately anxious, I glanced around the room, desperate for something nice to wear. But Fred wouldn't let me change. He pulled me down the stairs past my family and outside. There was no car. Fred looked both ways, as if he was going to cross the street.

"_Accio brooms_!"

I stared at him in confusion. I hadn't the slightest clue what 'Accio' meant but what was the nonsense with the brooms? His face was so concentrated I didn't dare ask or laugh at him.

And then…two broomsticks, two every-day, ordinary household brooms, came hurtling towards us. I blinked again and again. They stopped in front of us. So maybe they weren't _every day _broomsticks. If a broomstick could be described as sleek, that was the one in front of me. Or it once was sleek, it looked a little worn. On the handle was painted in gold letters the words 'Cleansweep 11.' I looked at Fred's—his looked a bit worse for the wear and read 'Cleansweep 5.' I pinched myself. I was not waking up. Or this was real. Fred slid his leg over one and turned towards me, his mischievous grin returning, probably from the sight of my jaw dropped down to my stomach.

"Well, sis?"

I had no clue what to do. A broomstick? I looked around for strings or a remote control.

"It's impossible. Broomsticks can't fly. It's all fairytale. Witches and—"

"_Exactly_. Exactly! Ella, you are a witch. I'm a wizard. You are a Weasley."

"A _what_?!?"

Fred sighed.

"Look, Fred, if this is one of your bloody jokes, I'm not in the mood. Alright?"

Today had already been crazy and confusing and I was sick of it. I felt the same way I had when Piers had said I wanted him or when I thought about Harry Potter—who Fred apparently knew or heard of—and this, _this_, was the last straw. I was so angry I could…

But before I could even finish the thought, I was distracted by an explosion across the street. Mrs. Broadhurst's potted plant had burst! The flowers, the ceramic pot, the soil was spread all over the porch. There were no boys throwing anything nearby. There was no explanation. Bloody hell, was that me again?

Fred grinned at me. Fred! Somehow, I thought desperately, he's done some sort of trick. Oh, Mrs. B was going to be furious!

"What have you done?"

"Me?" Fred looked surprise, "Oh no, dear sister, that was _you._"

"I can't do that! I don't know any magic tricks! I'm not like you!"

Could I? That might explain why things exploded when I was mad...Was he right, was he not in jest? Could I be magic? Why was I trembling? What was wrong with me?

"Ella. Listen to me," Fred sighed, "you are a witch. You are _not_ a Muggle. I can't take you to Mum and Dad and all without you realizing this. You just made that plant explode. Not me, not some bogus magic card trick. Magic is real. Always has been. We wizards live in secret, away from all these Muggles with their technology. Blimey, Ella, haven't you ever done stuff like that before? Become angry and make things _happen_? Personally, I think you should've been told long ago, keeping a powerful pure-blood witch from learning magic is rubbish. What happened if your power got to be so much you _killed_ someone?"

I just shook my head dumbfounded.

Fred sighed again, and then looked down at himself. He slapped himself suddenly. "Ella, get on the broom and I'll explain it all on the way. _Please_. The Ministry'll have my head if we get caught."

Get on the broom? He had to be crazy. He was crazy. There was no way in hell he was sane.

I backed away slowly.

"Ella…"

"No, Fred. I can't do this. You're nuts. I'm nuts. Our parents must be insane. That's why I was adopted. To keep me from going crazy, too." I desperately clung to the thought.

"Ella, now you're just being ridiculous."

"No. I can't."

I turned around and ran back into my house, past Jeff and Charlie at the kitchen table, past Mum and Sophie making supper, past Colin playing with one of the little neighborhood boys, back to my room. I glanced out the window, expecting to see Fred standing there with his trick broomsticks. He wasn't there. I could just make out a figure on the horizon that looked like a boy on a flying broomstick. No, I was just seeing things. I dove under the covers, pulled the pillow over my head and prayed that this would all go away.


	5. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **Well, it took me a bloody long time to update, didn't I? I apologize, as a fan-fiction writer I'm absolutely rubbish. I only turn out worthwhile bits much after the deadline. But I'm working, while I've got this muse sitting on my shoulder. I wrote this one all day today. Besides writing this chapter, I updated the previous ones. There's a bit more dialogue in Chapter 1 and little tid-bits of information that will make sense much later in the story. Just general improvements all around. I tend to do this to stories I really care about. So enjoy!

(I do not own Harry Potter or his world. Just Ella and her friends).

****

* * *

**CHAPTER 4 **

The rest of that night was miserable. Mum and Dad just dismissed it as the aftermath of my fainting spell. Then, when it didn't let up by the next morning, they became concerned.

"Are you alright, Ella?"

Grunt.

"Anything you want to talk about, dear?"

"No."

And so it went on. They would converse in low voices when they thought I wasn't around. The rest of the family started avoiding me. I wasn't pleasant to be around. I wouldn't look anyone in the eye; I couldn't be distracted from my misery. I just…couldn't shake this feeling of … of…I don't even know _what_.

All I could think about was what Fred had said to me.

"_Ella, I don't think I can hide anymore from you now. Dumbledore had wanted you to grow up normally, but you can't help being different from them…" _

"_Do you believe in magic?"_

"_...Six brothers and one sister, two parents, not too far away, all living, and magical abilities…"_

"_Ella, you are a witch. I'm a wizard. You are a Weasley." _

"_Magic is real. Always has been. We wizards live in secret…" _

"_Haven't you ever done stuff like that before? …Make things _happen_? …What happened if your power got to be so much you _killed_ someone?" _

It was like a broken record in my brain. Just repeating over and over and over and over. But the part that skipped the most on this record was not Fred's words, but my own.

_No, Fred. I can't do this. _You're_ nuts. _I'm_ nuts…keep me from going crazy, too. _

_Ella, now you're just being ridiculous._

_No. I can't._

No, I can't do this. _No. I can't_. No, I can't do this. _No. I can't_. No, I can't do this.

No, I can't.

What couldn't I do? Go meet my family? If that was all there was to it, that decision wouldn't bother me like this. I don't know if I'd go, but once I'd made my decision, I'd have gotten on with my life.

Instead, I sounded like the Little Engine that Couldn't.

It was the magic that bothered me. I mean, I've devoured nearly every fantasy book there is: J.R. Tolkien, Hans Christian Anderson, C.S. Lewis, Tamora Pierce—as a kid, I never gotten enough of the stuff. I had wished desperately that magic things like unicorns and dragons and witches were real. And once upon a time, I'd believed that maybe magic could answer why I made things go boom.

I'd pushed them aside when I knew that I couldn't have it. I was sensible. It was all tales and imagination, just stories. All children go through the age where their innocence is more or less stripped from them, and they emerge as adults, or trying to be ones.

I felt like I was beating my head against a wall over and over again. Angst. Angst. Angst.

Could I go back and believe it all? Why wouldn't I want to go back and believe it all?

Magic is real and I can do it.

_No, I can't. _

I had had a chance to know my real family, where I wouldn't be adopted, where I'd belong completely. Where, according to Fred, things _happened. _An explanation of _why_. Why I made things explode. Why I didn't always seem to fit in. Why I had been given up for adoption. Why I couldn't remember anything before my ninth birthday.

Why couldn't I just believe Fred? Besides his jokes, he was one of the most honest people I'd ever met. Most people, I mused, would jump at the chance to fly on a broomstick and cast spells.

Two things held me back.

One was the Smiths. They'd been my family for all of the life I could remember. Mum and Dad…Sophie, Charlie, Colin…Aunt Emily, Josh, Ethan…I fit into their lives, didn't I? I was their daughter, sister, niece, cousin. I belonged with them, didn't I?

"_Ella, you are a witch. You are _not_ a Muggle." _

"…_you can't help being different from them." _

Were the Smiths the 'them' Fred had spoken of? What if it was true and I didn't actually belong? Was I like a puzzle piece who had been put with a completely different set and somehow had managed to fit myself in, standing out without realizing it? What if they didn't actually want me here? They only took care of me just because they had to? The thought stung and hurt so badly it was almost a physical pain.

No, I told myself over and over. They _love _you. They wouldn't tell you so if they didn't. They wouldn't care for you if they hated you. This took away from the pain, relieved it like an antidote and the pain would lessen after Mum would smooth back my hair or kiss my cheek good-night. But the pain would sharpen if someone said something without thinking. Like a burr, each jib stuck more and more tightly to my heart.

The other thing that held me back was my dreams.

Ever since that first, horrendous nightmare, I couldn't sleep without seeing some new horror. Playing the major roles in my dreams were the woman, the evil red-eyed man, and the snake. Other faces and names flitted through, usually in shadows, covered by dark hoods. Why would I want to go back to a world where they were this evil? Where I was treated this cruelly? Where terror reined, night and day?

I barely noticed my surroundings, even at school. I didn't go back at first. Actually, I didn't go back on Tuesday. I just couldn't get myself out of bed. Wednesday, I got down to the breakfast table, but Mum shooed me back to bed. Charlie brought home my homework for me and I attacked it. Homework lent me a reprise from my moodiness. It was numbing, but at the same time, required all of my attention. Nothing in the boring history books or in the complicated math problems reminded me too much of a magical world that might or might not exist.

By Thursday, I was determined to go back to school. School, at least, I thought would have my friends and I had loads to catch up on. I hopefully thought that I maybe would be able to avoid the heavy depression at Stonewall.

At first, everyone welcomed me back, asking questions about what happened, what made me so sick. I just smiled and said that I had fainted and couldn't get out of bed. I didn't have the patience or the energy to make up an elaborate excuse.

My friends, bless them, noticed my melancholy right away. At first, I think that they thought I was depressed because Jeff had expressed an interest in only being friends. But this was beyond that. If anything, a small voice inside my head told me, Jeff seemed to display an interest in being more. The part of me that would have obsessed and squealed and giggled about every little thing that he had said and done was squashed by the clouds Fred's visit had brought.

They all did their best to cheer me up, teasing and joking and trying to make me laugh. It did help a little. There were moments where I joined in the laughter and added a comment or two, but nothing held my attention very long. Soon, I was swallowed by their happiness. I couldn't make myself be happy like them. I felt just so detached from their world. I felt like an outsider.

"_You can't help being different from them…" _

Stop it, Fred, stop it! I wanted to shout, to cover my hands over my ears so that I wouldn't hear his words. But it was in my head, and there was no way for me to mute his earnest voice.

After class, I was headed back to my locker. I avoided Jeff as best I could without looking rude. Why I was dodging the boy, I don't know, but he reminded me of that awful car ride with those awful things…

I shuddered at the recollection and pushed them out of my mind.

"Ella!" I heard.

I turned and saw Allie Walpole, running full steam in my direction.

"Geez, wait up! I must've yelled your name a hundred times!"

I grinned weakly. "Sorry, just…thinking."

"Yeah, I noticed," she murmured. I pretended not to hear her. An awkward silence descended.

"So, how'd you do on your Social Circles assignment?" Allie asked kindly.

"Uh, I, um…B+." I hadn't actually looked at the paper when she handed it back. I looked now.

"Really? Ew, I hate you. I got a C. Stupid Burbage."

"She's awful," I said, now reading what she had written on my paper.

_Well done, Miss Smith. Not exactly what I expected, but you put effort into this, that much is obvious. You must have a very interesting social niche. Your family and friends sound wonderful and you managed to capture most of their personalities. What touched me the most was what you wrote about your brother, Fred. He sounds like an interesting person and you seem to have found a unique balance between the family you know and the family you don't. _

She had circled what I had written about Fred.

_A unique balance…_ The woman had no idea what she was talking about.

"Fred? That's your brother's name?" asked Allie, somewhat surprised.

"Yeah. Didn't I tell you that?" I thought I had.

"Nah, you just always call him 'your other brother'."

"Oh, yeah, well. He's Fred."

"S'cool," Allie said, nodding her head in a way that implied she was thinking of a conversation topic for us to cover that was safe.

"Hey, how come we've never met him?"

"Dunno. Reckon just never got around to it." I shrugged my shoulder. "Though I doubt I'll see him for a while," I muttered.

"Why? Is he going off somewhere?"

"No, we got into an awful row Monday night."

"You did? Oh, no, Ella. What was it about? If you don't wanna tell me, it's alright."

I stared at her. Should I tell her? She'd probably have me sent to Bedlam. Or tell me _he_ ought to be sent there. But…Fred wasn't crazy.

Yes, he was. Talking of magic and me being a witch. Of course, he's crazy, you dolt, I scolded myself. You're crazy for thinking he's not.

"Ella," Allie said softly. "Look, something's bothering you. We all know it. Bottling it up is not gonna help in any way. You can injure yourself _physically_ if you hold too much emotion inside yourself. And I'm _not_ gonna train a new goalie."

I gulped. Despite her gentle teasing, Allie's eyes were concerned. I smiled. She wasn't trying to make things worse. She was here, trying to be the best friend she could to someone who wasn't letting her.

"We just…came to words, is all," I muttered. I longed to confide in her. To have her tell me that of course I was right, Fred had to be crazy.

"About what?" She wasn't letting up.

"Uh, err, well, he wanted to take me to meet my biological parents…"

"Oh, Ella!" Allie wrapped her arms around me, squashing me and the books I carried. This was the opposite of the reaction I had expected.

"_Legome_," I muttered.

"What?" she asked

"Let go!" I gasped.

"Oh, sorry, didn't mean to strangle you. But, Ella, I understand now!"

"You do?"

"'Course I do. You've always been touchy about the adopted thing; I've known that for _years_. But you've never known them! You can't just be thrown into something new without having time to think about it and approach it. You've never been able to do that. You're much too shy. And he probably just grabbed you and was like 'Let's go!' And you'll have questions you'll want answered but at the same time, don't. And you're bound to be concerned how you can have two families without choosing one over the other! Oh, Ella!" Impetuously, Allie threw her arms around me again.

Well, she was mostly wrong. Not completely off the mark, those were similar to the thoughts that bounced around me before Fred had sprung the magic thing on me.

For a moment, as Allie hugged me, I felt lighter…not an awful lot, but just enough to make a difference. But there was a very full bottle still inside me, and I wasn't willing to pour it all out. I couldn't.

"Thanks, Allie."

"No problem, Ella."

Smiling, Allie continued walking with me in the direction of my locker.

It was remarkable, but my heart felt lightened; a little of the burden had gone away. We began chattering eagerly about cricket again, and I even started to tell a little bit about my car ride home with Jeff, Allie squealing when I told her how he took my hand and called me 'his girl'.

I felt almost as if I was sliding back into my old self, the old Ella Smith. Just for a moment, I had hope that this would all go away.

We went to Allie's locker first, as it was closest. Then, after she had dumped her stuff and gotten her bag, we headed up the stairs to my locker. I was telling Allie in detail what Jeff and I had talked about while sitting in the parking lot when we got there.

As per usual, the soccer players and Charlie and Miranda were all standing around his locker. And, as per usual, Randy was leaning against mine. Her high laugh hurt my ears, but the past few nights I had heard a laugh that chilled my bones worse than hers ever could.

"Hey, Miranda," I said politely, "Mind if I get through to my locker?"

"Oh, _Ellie_, you're back! These past few days, with you all laid up in bed, I _almost_ forget that this is _your_ locker!"

You'd think some things would change.

"Nope, I'm still here, Miranda. And this still is my locker."

"_What_ was wrong with you?" she asked, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

"Didn't feel well." I kept my eyes down, focusing on intricacies of my shoelace.

"Is that all? Your little date with Jeffy-poo didn't turn out so well?"

"Excuse me?" I asked, head shooting up.

"We've all heard about it. You begged Jeff for a ride home from the match, saw your old boyfriend there, pretended to hate him, and then made Jeff late to the after-game party by pretending to faint. Couldn't face everyone?"

Anger rushed through me, humiliation and hurt closely following. Had Jeff told everyone that?

"Who the _hell_ told you that, Miranda?" It was Jeff. He looked just as angry as I felt.

Miranda, startled, turned to face him. "It isn't true, then, Jeff?" she asked, batting her eyes.

"Not at all," he practically growled.

"What's this?" asked Charlie, who hadn't been paying attention. He took in Miranda's, Jeff's and my faces.

Miranda smiled fakely at me, then tilted her head back and laughed. "Just clarifying some rumors I heard about Ellie and Jeff, Charlie."

"What rumors?" he asked.

Miranda repeated them. Charlie shook his head.

"Ella doesn't have any ex-boyfriends. And she didn't pretend to faint, trust me. She sucks at faking sick." He grinned at me, teasing slightly.

My brother's a git and a bit slow sometimes, but I saw right away, that he was protecting me—through the truth, but still protecting me. He never does that. My heart swelled a little bit with love for Charlie.

See, said a little voice inside, he _is _your brother. Maybe not by blood, but through other ties. You are wanted here. You are loved here.

"…And Jeff offered to pick her up, she didn't ask him. He told me about it."

Charlie's glance switched from me to Jeff; they made eye-contact and there seemed to be an unspoken message in them.

"Well, rumors sometimes have a grain of truth in them," Miranda said, simpering. "I just wanted to clarify with Ella before it got out. Only looking out for my _adopted_ sister."

My fingers clenched into my fists. My control was starting to slip.

"Yeah, rumors have a funny way about them. I've heard a few about you, Miranda," I said recklessly.

She froze. "Oh, really? Well, like the ones about you and Conroy here, they probably simply aren't true."

"I hope so, for Charlie's sake," I spat.

"What?" asked Charlie.

There was something different about me, I was practically attacking Miranda. Counterattacking, actually. She attacked first.

"Kidding, don't worry." I panicked. I wasn't sure of this new Ella that didn't let her brother's girlfriend walk all over her. So I tried to slide back into being a doormat.

"You're so funny, _Ellie_." Miranda's dark brown eyes told me she would like to bludgeon me to death.

The nickname set off another small wave of anger.

"Thanks, _Randy_," I said, not thinking.

"Randy!?"

Oops. Shouldn't have said _that. _"Randy" didn't seem to like the pet name very much.

"Since when did you come up with that little nickname?"

I was back-wheeling really fast now.

"Uh, right now? You, um, were calling me Ellie so, uh, I gave you a nickname."

"I see." Her eyes were narrowed. "I suppose you weren't trying to say that I…?" She trailed off, leaving it for me to figure it out.

I stared at her for a minute. _Crap. _Oh, no. She thought I was using the slang word 'randy.' She thought I was calling her horny…or to imply she was easy. Well, it's not like it wasn't true.

"Oh no no no no no no, um, not at all. Why would I get that idea?" My tone was as bland and as innocent as I could make it.

"Nowhere," she snapped, "I'd prefer if you didn't call me that. I can't be sure you have the right intentions."

"Humorous intentions only, Randy."

Allie nudged me. I was going too far. Miranda looked ready to drag me out and shoot me. But I felt like I was driving a car, with really faulty brakes that sometimes worked.

"I'm just messing with you, Miranda. Don't worry about it," I backed down quickly.

"That's what I thought," she smiled sickly-sweetly at me. "We're just the best of buds," she informed the boys, "we're _practically_ sisters. Well," she smirked, "_adopted_ sisters." And there she went, cackling again.

My ears began to burn. Miranda's grin grew wider. She placed her well-manicured hand on my shoulder.

"Oh no. Did I hurt your feelings, Ellie? I didn't _mean_ to." Her voice was that pouty-fake-puppy-dog-talk.

"Hey, Miranda, babe, knock it off."

I was surprised that it was Charlie who spoke up again. Twice to my rescue? Only this was the first time he'd made an overt attempt to put a stop to Miranda.

Miranda was just as surprised as I was and looked at him, wide-eyed. He gave her an apologetic grin and wrapped on arm around her waist.

"Babe, you know that it sets Ella off, so lay off? She's not herself lately, and she's just joking around with you. You know she's not trying to say anything bad about you. Who could? You're perfect. "

Ew, okay? Perfect, _Miranda_? But…Charlie was defending me. I had to appreciate it. However, his defense of me angered his girlfriend, despite the flattery.

"Excuse _me_? Your adopted sister calls me a _whore_ and you tell _me_ to lay off—"

_She _said it. I, Ella Smith, _never_ called Miranda Cavendish a whore.

I may have been thinking it.

But _she_ said it.

"She didn't call you a whore, Miranda," he sighed.

"I see you're picking her over me." She pulled herself out of his grip and pointed one of her manicured nails at him.

Charlie's brown eyes grew wide. "I am _not_!" he said hotly. "I'm just pointing out the obvious."

"Fine." She turned on her seven-inch heel and stomped away. Charlie gave a strangled yelp and ran his hand through his hair. The guys laughed.

"Thanks a lot, Ella! Now she's pissed at me!" he huffed.

My great big bubble of love for him popped.

"What the hell did I do? She started it. I didn't even bring you into it!"

"Ella, couldn't you have just kept your mouth shut? You always ruin shit."

"_I_ ruin shit?" My voice went high and shrill. My vision was beginning to go red.

"_Yeah, you do_. I don't know what the hell's been up with you lately, but you've _always_ been so good at _this_."

"What's 'this'?" I demanded.

"At making stuff explode. Things _and_ people. You just push people's buttons until they explode. You had to keep pushing the Randy thing? Couldn't you see that it pissed her off?"

That was _it. _

My fists clenched around the strap of my bag. I felt the familiar snapping inside of me, the snapping that said my control on my emotion was gone.

I didn't notice one of the big school windows at the end of the hallway shatter into a million pieces.

"Then _I'm_ supposed to let her keep calling me 'Ellie' when I hate it? But if I call her a nickname she flips out and I get yelled at? What the hell, Charlie! Couldn't you just be a man and stand up to your girlfriend? _I am your_ _sister_. She's the one who has been picking on me since day one. If I have to hear one more crack about being adopted—"

This had turned into a Smith screaming match in the middle of the hallway of Stonewall High. People were making a wide circle away from us. Charlie and I were ringed by his friends. At least I had Allie, who stood, somewhat uncomfortably, at my side.

"Why is it always about _you_? Just 'cause you're the 'special' one!? Guess what, Ella. You are adopted, so technically you're _not_ my sister. You could just be another girl in this hallway. You _are_ just another girl in this hallway." And with that, Charlie stomped off after his girlfriend.

I slumped against the lockers, feeling as if Charlie had taken a car and slammed it into my gut. Things I wanted to scream at him churned in my brain.

He had never played the adopted card before. No one in the Smith household ever had. They knew it was a bad subject.

The small voice in my head, the one that had kept me sane for the past few days, gave a feeble attempt.

He's just angry. You've had fights before and you always make up. He's still your brother.

_You're not my sister. _

The sentence was burned into my brain.

Why did I have to open my big fat mouth? Why couldn't I just let Miranda walk all over me, as I've let her do for the past year? Why do I have to be so good at triggering explosions? Why couldn't Charlie be wrong?

I didn't belong here. I belonged with Fred, I thought blindly. Fred. Fred. Fred. Fred was a way out of this mess. Fred would take me away, away from the Smiths who didn't want me.

Charlie is only one Smith, said the small voice.

But I didn't want to listen to reason. I just wanted to cry.

Allie touched my arm, letting me know that she was here for me. Charlie's friends awkwardly started to shuffle off.

Any happiness that I had recovered disappeared. I reached for the bottle inside, the one where I'd so carefully kept everything. It was gone, smashed to shards of glass inside of me. Maybe that was the crash I had heard. Everything I had been holding inside was still there, but not so tightly kept. They were bouncing around my insides, tearing me to pieces.

Attempting to do something, anything, to keep myself from breaking down, I turned to my locker and slowly began to turn the combination, hoping I'd just automatically turn the right one. My stomach turned over and over, churning words.

"_You _are_ adopted." _

"_You can't help being different from them."_

"_You brat! You little bitch! Look at what you've done!"_

"_You push people's buttons until they explode."_

"_Do you believe in magic?" _

"_Technically, you're not my sister."_

"Hey, Ella?"

I twitched at the sound of my name. I looked up at the speaker, expecting another attack of some sort. It was Jeff. He smiled crookedly at me.

Dully, I wondered what happened to the reactions my body used to have to him. I felt empty.

His smile disappeared when I didn't return it.

"Ella, look. Don't worry about Charlie. He doesn't mean it."

"What?"

"Charlie. Elle, he didn't mean any of that."

_Yes, he did. He meant every single word of it!_ my brain screamed. _And I deserved it._

I shook my head, blocking his words.

"Ella, you can't think that any of what he said is true! I mean, hey, you're adopted, but you're still as much a part of his family as Sophie and Colin. He's talked to me about it, you're like his twin."

"Sure. His twin…" I spat bitterly.

Jeff sighed and leaned against the lockers. "Look, Ella, I'm just trying to say that Charlie doesn't think. You should know that, better than anyone. And sure, you said a few things that pissed him off, but he'll get over it. If not, I'll talk him 'round, okay?"

"Sure." Whatever. There was a dull throbbing in my brain that didn't really allow any kind of thought.

"Ella, listen to me," he snapped.

I looked up, surprised. He was still talking to me?

"I've watched Miranda bully you for the past year. And you've dealt with enough. If I were you, I would have exploded sooner."

I winced at the word 'exploded' and he noticed.

"Oh, cheer up, Smith. Gloom doesn't suit you. Besides, that ginger fire-hair ought to be used to explosions," he grinned, desperately.

I raised my eyebrows. Poor bloke, I thought. He's really trying to make me feel better. I gave him a tiny smile, trying to show him that I did appreciate what he was trying to do. The stupid sick feeling wasn't gone from my stomach.

"Look, Ella…" he growled in frustration. He ran his hands through his hair, looked this way and that, than grabbed my shoulders and kissed me. Hard.

I froze. What the hell was going on? He pulled back and looked at me. I stared at him.

"Err, sorry. I've wanted to do that…for a while."

The line I've dreamed of and wanted to hear for ages was being said to me and I couldn't move.

_You want this! You want this! Say something, stupid girl! For once, in your life, don't mess this up! _

"Errr, it's alright. Thanks," I said.

_Thanks? _

He grinned, but there was a question in his eyes. A question that I understood and wanted with all my heart to answer. Finding it somewhat difficult, I smiled and kissed his cheek.

His grin grew so big that I thought his poor face would be split in half, and then he turned and ran down the hallway.

"The boy is positively _skipping_," Allie murmured next to me.

I jumped; I had forgotten she was there.

"_Jeff Conroy_ just kissed _you_!" she squealed, throwing her arms around me for the third time that day.

"Yeah," I said dully, wondering why I wasn't more excited.

"Ella, what's wrong? I thought you fancied him…Oh, Ella!"

"No, I do. _I do_," I told her, and myself. "I just…it's just… _Charlie_," I whispered.

"Ella Smith! I mean, I'd understand if every thought flew out of your head when he kissed you, but didn't you listen to the boy? He's _right_. You guys are siblings, just not blood related. Sibs fight all the time—I know for a fact that you and Charlie fight like cats and dogs. He'll get over it and then it'll be just dandy. _And_ _then_, when Jeff asks you out, Charlie can beat him up."

Charlie wouldn't care if I lay dead in the street right now.

"You're crazy, Allie." I was crazy.

"Ella, Jeff fancies you. After all that, there's no way in hell, he doesn't!"

If this was any other week, I would have been so wrapped up in a haze of happiness, no one could have brought me down from the heavens. I'd always pictured it—Jeff Conroy falling in love with me, his best friend's sister. Why wasn't I beyond the moon and stars?

_You're not my sister._

Right. That's why.

"No, no, Allie. I got _that_ part. It's just…I doubt Charlie will beat him up."

"Ella! Just last week, we were saying the likelihood of Charlie beating him up and Jeff falling for you was as unlikely as broomsticks flying! I wouldn't be surprised if one whizzed right past me right now!"

Flying broomsticks.

I started sobbing hysterically.

"Oh Ella, it's been a rough week for you, hasn't it?" Allie clucked, helping me up. "Come on, let's get you home. I'll drive you, okay?"

I nodded my head. We were walking down the stairs, as the announcement system crackled to life.

"Students and faculty, a window on the second floor has been shattered. This is a serious matter because it is expensive to replace and dangerous to those the glass might have hurt. We suspect vandalism; if anyone knows anything, please report to the main office. Oh, and would the custodial staff please report the second floor hallway to clean up the broken glass?"

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**Well, that was rather angsty, wasn't it? Poor Ella. Reviews will make me..errr..._her_ happier!** **:D**


	6. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **Once again, it's been awhile. This chapter's short, and told in Fred's POV. I don't own Harry Potter's world, just the Smiths. :)

Reviews :)

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"Something creaked downstairs." (page 135, _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_)

**CHAPTER 5 **

After Harry's rushed birthday dinner, Fred lingered by the door. The Delacours retired early, with the reasonable excuse that there would be much to do with the wedding the next day. George was helping Hagrid set up his tent for the night. Mrs. Weasley and Harry and Hermione went about getting rid of the decorations and setting the garden back to its newer immaculate state, while Ron and Ginny did the dishes. Mr. Weasley was talking in low voices with Charlie and Bill.

It looked almost normal, Fred mused, if it weren't for the fact that everyone was so tense. Harry and Hermione kept throwing each other glances, while Ron scrubbed quickly, and somewhat clumsily, at the dishes.

"Done!" he cried the moment the last dish was washed and ran upstairs to his room. Ginny rolled her eyes at Fred as he walked into the kitchen.

"Goodnight, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said as he too headed up the stairs, though he was much slower about it than Ron.

Hermione stayed downstairs and helped Ginny with the dishes—Ron, in his hurry, had missed several spots and half the dishes had to be rewashed.

Fred lazed around, seeming to do nothing in particular. His mind, on the other hand, was whirring. His thoughts were not really focused on whatever his brother and his best friends were up to, but rather on someone else.

At last, the girls finished and Hermione made eye contact with Ginny, who nodded once, and Hermione disappeared upstairs.

"Wish I had some Extendable Ears at this point," Fred muttered. But he might as well leave the trio alone for now; he and George were sleeping in Ron's room, too.

It was a bit weird that he was not scheming new pranks. With a wedding only hours away, it was the _perfect _time to play a brilliant practical joke. He and George had been planning for days, until Mum had made them take an Unbreakable Vow so they wouldn't play any "nasty tricks."

No, Fred, instead, was worrying about the latest owl he had received from Emily Knobbins. According to the former secretary to the Minister of Magic, Ella was not doing well. Whether it was the effect the dementors had had on her or what Fred had revealed to her, she had been brooding since Monday.

"_She went back to her school today. I don't know how it's going to go. I hope her friends and work will distract her, but I've got an awful feeling she's going to explode. Molly says that Ella's been having the most terrible nightmares—she's been screaming and shaking in her sleep, but doesn't seem to ever wake up from them…"_

Fred swore under his breath as he re-read the letter. He had come too close to losing George this week, and now there was a good chance he was going to lose Ella. Dumbledore had warned him that there would be a certain point where Ella would snap and all hell could break lose. He had predicted that it would happen after she became of age, because not having an outlet for her power could prove deadly, either for herself or the Muggles she was surrounded by. And if she was holding up a lot inside of her, just brooding and hoarding her emotions, there would be an explosion. Dumbledore reckoned that she would have a few minor ones at first…

Fred couldn't make up his mind. He desperately wanted to fly back to Surrey to try to talk to her again, but with the wedding tomorrow and everyone on edge about You-Know-Who… And wasn't she safer as a Muggle, away from all this? …No, You-Know-Who believed all Muggles were inferior to magical folk, that they had their place beneath pure-blood wizards. And she was a pure-blood witch, though a blood-traitor Weasley. And if she was unknowingly using magic, how much longer until someone caught her or she hurt someone? Fred's internal debate went back and forth, back and forth, faster than an international Quidditch match.

He looked at the clock. All nine hands were pointed at _Mortal Peril._

He sighed, thinking. Poor Mum. She's going absolutely batty.

He reached up and touched the hands. He yanked on his own, trying to make it point at _Home._ But it wouldn't budge; they never ever budged, even if two boys grabbed the same hand and jumped. He chuckled to himself, remembering when he and George had tried to point Ron's hand at _Lost _when Ron was three_._ Just for kicks and giggles.

Then, a thought struck him. Was there a hand for Ella? Standing on tiptoe, he peered closely at the centre where all the hands were fastened. But no, there was only nine. Not even a space between George's and Ron's to suggest there was another person born. But wait—there tucked into the corner—was a glimmer. Something gold was hidden back in one of the crevices of the clock. Fred reached for it.

"Fred, what are you doing to my clock?!" shrieked Mrs. Weasley.

Take by surprise, Fred slammed back on his heels, almost losing his balance.

"Err, nothing."

Mrs. Weasley's glare faded away as she looked at the clock. She smiled softly at him.

"It's alright, love. Now, go on to bed. We've got entirely too much to do tomorrow for you to be lazing about."

"Yes'm," Fred kissed her cheek and headed up the stairs. He looked behind him and saw his mother still standing before her clock, a tear threatening to leave her eye.

He swallowed hard. _After the wedding,_ he vowed, _I'll bring Ella here, for Mum. Give her something happy to cry over._

He passed Ginny's room, and saw she was sitting there, staring out the window. No Hermione. Must be in Ron's room, he thought.

He didn't go up to the attic room though. He went to his and George's room, temporarily Charlie and Bill's. He stretched out on his bed, trainers and all, forgetting his mum's warnings not to dirty the linens with their shoes.

Tired, he must have drifted off because the next thing he knew he was being shaken awake.

"You've got an owl, Fred."

"WH—what?" Fred shook his head to clear the sleep from his brain.

"You. Have. An. Owl. Slow enough for you?" Charlie repeated.

"Oh, shove off, Dragon-Boy," Fred growled as he sat up on the bed.

Charlie chuckled as he slid into the bed. "Just be careful, Mum and Dad bunked down early in the sitting room. It's outside the kitchen door. And be a good lad, and go to where you're _supposed _to be sleeping."

"What happened to Bill's surprise bachelor party?" Fred asked.

"Mum nixed it. Said it was too dangerous to bring anyone here with Harry here and all."

"Well, how are you supposed to have a proper bachelor party when the bride and her parents are here, anyways?"

"Dunno. We had our own little gathering two nights ago, though. Over at the Leaky Cauldron, just the odd friends from Hogwarts and what-not."

"And didn't invite George and me? Git. I mean, c'mon, I know Ron's still a baby…"

"Mum said no. She said you weren't the proper age and couldn't handle anything other than butterbeer, and she didn't want to think about the two of you having fire-whiskey. Especially not after your Order business. We couldn't go if you were coming."

Fred grumbled.

"Get over it, Fred. You'll have your share of bachelor parties before you snuff it. Now, go on. Go answer the bloody owl before it wakes Mum up."

A brown Burrowing owl awaited him, hopping around outside. Fred recognized it immediately as Emily's. Snatching the letter, he opened it, not noticing that the owl flew off.

"_Fred, I was right. She had a terrible row with Charlie at school. She blew out one of the school windows, sounds like. I'm going to talk with her right after I send Bart to you. I won't tell her anything about your family, but I think I'm going to try to convince her that she's got to accept that magic is real. Come over at once. It'll take Bart about an hour to get from Surrey to Devon, so hopefully that'll give me to time to talk her round. –Emily_"

Fred swore so badly if his mother had heard him, she would have in such a state of shock she would have needed a few minutes to recuperate before she could take him to task for his language.

Hang it all, he was going over to the Smiths tonight.

He went back inside, closing the door as quietly as possible. He heard his mum mumble in her sleep, something about seating arrangements. Pausing, he waited until she quieted again before climbing the stairs. He snuck back into his room, where both Bill and Charlie were passed out, and found a jumper and gloves. Grabbing his wand off the bedside table, he shoved it into his back pocket.

He left the room, carefully. He paused on the step to the attic room, debating whether he was going to ask Ron to borrow his broom. He could steal George's broom, but he almost felt like it should be Ron's. He could just take one broom, but he wasn't sure his old Cleansweep 5 could hold two people.

The second step creaked as he put his foot on it. No, he decided, Ron wouldn't notice it. His younger brother was too involved with Harry and Hermione to notice. Fred stood on the step for a moment, waiting for the step to settle again before he dismounted.

He heard soft footsteps above his head, that traveled from Ron's room down to Ginny's. Hermione had panicked with the squeak, Fred figured.

He turned and hurried out into the night. Checking his watch, he saw that it was only half past nine, and the light was only now beginning to fade. It would take him roughly an hour and a half to get to Little Whinging by broom, which was why generally he just used Floo Powder to get to Emily's and walked over to the Smiths. Most of his time would be spent flying in the dark. Not the best idea, but he didn't dare steal the car.

Quickly, Fred hurried to the shed and, after a quick jiggling with a pick, the door sprung open. Grabbing his and Ron's broomsticks, Fred kicked the door of the shed shut. He flicked his wand and the padlock snapped shut.

"Where you off to?" asked George, appearing out of the darkness.

"Nowhere," Fred said quickly.

"Liar."

Fred smirked. "Maybe."

Fred hadn't been able to tell George about Ella. It was the one thing that he and George didn't share, and it hurt not tell his twin everything. But Dumbledore had made him swear to tell no one until Ella was restored to the Weasleys.

"C'mon, Fred. You've been hiding something, what with disappearing Monday night. Mum wigged out."

"Did she? Maybe we should invest in new head-wear for her."

"Har-dee-har-har," George rolled his eyes. "Fred, that was dreadful."

"Says the _holey_ one."

George immediately reached up to touch where his ear had been. His lips twitched into the ghost of the smile.

"Look, George, I'll explain when I get back."

"It's not a girl, is it?"

Fred laughed. "Caught me. It's a set of twins. Keeping 'em all to myself."

"Greedy, selfish twot!" George jokingly swung at him. "Well, alright. If you're keeping hush, I won't stop you. But be careful, Fred."

"I will. Don't worry."

People often told him they never had seen he and George be serious, but when they were together, and not planning pranks, they could be quite solemn. For maybe ten minutes, Fred thought. He and George both re-entered the house. George shook his head as he climbed the stairs to the attic-room.

Fred watched him go, shuddering as he caught a glimpse of the dark hole on the side of George's head. Another inch over and Fred would have been twin-less.

He couldn't imagine living without George. How does Ron do it? he used to wonder, even with Dumbledore's explanation of the complexities of magical twins. He shook the thought aside; Ron would know soon enough what it was like.

He was headed to the back door, when the kitchen clock caught his eye again. He remembered the glimmer, and now away from his mother's prying, he took a closer look at that bit of gold. With much wiggling and pinching and twisting of his fingers, he managed to drag the shiny object into the open air, bringing with it a bit of dust.

He held another golden clock hand. _Cedrella Isla Weasley_ was carved into it. There was a little pink ribbon tied around it, but nothing else. Fred clutched it harder into his hand until his knuckles turned white.

Holding it in his fist made it all the more real. Clenching his jaw in determination, he stuck the hand bearing his other sister's name into his jeans pocket, ran out of the kitchen, and took off into the night.

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**I can't promise that I will be updating very soon, but I'm working on the next chapter, don't worry. Be patient with me!**


	7. NOT A CHAPTER

**THIS IS NOT AN CHAPTER. **

To my lovely readers,

I promised myself that I'd never do this, but I have no choice. Yesterday, my faithful USB drive broke in half. Everything I've written EVER that I don't have published is gone. Every little drabble, every fan-fiction, every orignial work of mine is gone. I'm a bit beyond heart-broken to tell the truth. However, the only reason I'm telling you this via update is because the two big projects I've been working on, _Duty_ and _The Other Weasley_, were on this USB. I was almost ready to update both of them (hence why this is being published on both stories). I promise I will try to re-write them, but it's incredibly discourging. I know that I'm also the slowest updater anyway, so you're probably like why are you even bothering to tell me?

Thank you for understanding anyway.

Love,

Instead of Reality


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